


the devils we make

by antpharm



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 13:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11464119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antpharm/pseuds/antpharm
Summary: You watched her shots cleave through their skulls with your binoculars, spotting for her as you were, and felt more accomplished than if you’d made the same shot yourself—after all, you made the shooter.





	the devils we make

**Author's Note:**

> i never liked the idea of amélie simply being brainwashed, so here's what i'm positing instead: they merely tapped into something that was in her all along and gave the seed of it room to grow. 
> 
> temporary title and temporary summary?

She was always an ethereal thing, whip thin and smart as. Her skin was of a sickly fairness, a papery translucence so much so that she looked amphibious when exposed to light. A surprising thing, for a sniper. You sometimes had to labour hours, unmoving, under the harsh glare of desert sun—but she’d always found a way to relegate herself to the shadows, like she was made to be swallowed up and secreted away into corners and spider holes. A peculiar thing, she was. 

Her muscles were taut sinew and you couldn’t understand it. Somehow, the shape of her was still all pulled long and gangly on the wire rack of her bones despite how she was fed military meals like the rest of you and had to heft the bulk of her own standard-issue gear. Maybe it was because she had been a ballerina once, you remember. Ages and ages ago, before she’d ever gotten her hands on a gun (and you think, could she have hardly been herself then without a gun?). Maybe the dancing had pulled and stretched her thin, spun her into a shape her body could never come back from (a grace she carried in the perfect snap, reload, _aim_ she could seamlessly execute, a whole mess of bodies hitting the ground before even one of them could be any the wiser). 

She’d thrown herself into that as well with all the seriousness she’d brought to the battlefield (like she was always running from something, like she was trying not to _become_ something)—and she had the crooked toes to show for it too.

( _Now she has the calloused meat of her hands, tense knuckles, and an itchy trigger finger._ )

Terrifying, you realize, she had always been a precariously frightful thing to look at—like a bowstring drawn too tight. It had been in the strained corners of her smiles and the wild look in her eyes (grounded only when she made her kill, like her mind stilled and heart stopped only to centre on the trajectory of a single bullet). But goddamn beautiful. And that you recall with a striking clarity you reserve for the people closest to your heart—for your daughter, and her perfect conviction, for your brothers, lovers, dearest friends (and it was always hard to tell when they were which), Jack and Gabriel. 

But the bond of a teacher and her student is immutable and tied tightly to you by the heavy weight of responsibility (but was it just that? _You think of her drenched in rain, hair scraggly and pasted in thin, striping lines going down the sharp curve of her cheeks, sharper eyes trained unmoving from the lens of her scope_ ). It is indelible like the scar over your missing eye ( _like the the proud swell of your chest as you watched her make her marks with perfect accuracy, bullets clean between their eyes, despite the bone-chilling piss of rain pounding fever into your head. You watched her shots cleave through their skulls with your binoculars, spotting for her as you were, and felt more accomplished than if you’d made the same shot yourself—after all, you made the shooter_ ).

And so it should be no surprise that you cannot shake the way it guides you now, moulds your soul into a single-minded thing spurred by a duty you must fulfill (come hell or high water, _if you must tear the earth apart to make right this one thing_ )—

Alone. 

After all, she is the devil you created, and so you must be the one to destroy her. 

**Author's Note:**

> there might be more to come? i honestly didn't realize how much i cared about this ship until just now... (is there anyone else out there who ships them? please, drop me a line. i have a Mighty Need.)


End file.
